Chapter 1, A Day Like Any OtherA scream woke Christine. Then a series of thuds and bumps forced her upright in bed. Her heart fluttered against her ribs and she put a hand to her chest, waiting for her breathing to go back to normal. In the gloom, another bang startled her and she sighed, rubbing her arms to keep the chill away. She pulled the sheet up around her shoulders, cocking her head toward the door. What was it this time? Her father’s soothing voice reached her ears, his words unclear. He was reasoning with her mother, as usual. A familiar heaviness settled in her chest and swelled upward to block her throat. Another day had erupted in the Simms’ household. Cassandra snorted and flung a hand over Jamielle, who twitched and dug Christine with an elbow. Another round of crashes and thumps invaded the bedroom. Both girls stirred, and seven-year-old Cassandra sat up and rubbed her eyes. “What that?” “Ma’am and Daddy are fighting again,” Christine said. “Oh.” Cass lay down and snuggled against Jamielle, who snuffled into her pillow. Nothing ever changed at their house—the constant quarrels, her mother losing her temper and breaking things, her father trying to keep the peace. Not for the first time, Christine wondered why she wasn’t born in another family; one that lived in Kingston or even in the next parish, Manchester. Another island would be better. Maybe Antigua or Cayman, places she had learned about in Social Studies. Instead, their family didn’t have much of anything, and lived deep in the St. Elizabeth bush lands of Jamaica. Shutting her wishful thoughts away, Christine threw back the blanket. She shivered when cold air bit her skin through her nightgown. The wooden floor groaned as she crossed to the dresser in the corner. She got her clothes and moved to the door, cringing at the banging of pots and pans on the stovetop. Before she crept into the passage, she glanced toward the kitchen. She didn’t see anybody. Good. She tiptoed toward the bathroom, wincing when the hinges on the bedroom door creaked as loudly as their rooster bellowed across the yard at daybreak. “Chris?” Her mother’s voice stopped her, and Christine scraped her bottom lip with her teeth, wondering what she’d done this time. When she heard her name a second time, Christine answered, keeping her fingers crossed for good luck. Not that it worked most times. “It’s about time you got up,” Ma’am said. “Come here.” Christine sighed and her shoulders drooped. She focused on her feet as she entered the kitchen. She knew better than to provoke her mother, who would interpret a direct look as a challenge. The smell of cabbage made Christine’s stomach twist. That’s the third time this week. They always had something out of a can. Other than that, they ate cabbage. Mommy, or Ma’am as Christine preferred to call her, never prepared anything else, claiming she was too tired, or that her head hurt. Christine paid attention when Ma’am spat angry words. “You think I’m here to clean up after you?” Although Ma’am had asked a question, Christine didn’t give an answer because none was expected. “Next time I find anythin’ left in the sink overnight, I’m gonna slap you silly.” Christine looked up through her lashes as her mother’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “You might be your Daddy’s princess, but to me you’re just another mouth to feed, not to mention more work.” Christine wriggled her toes, hoping for a quick escape. She raised her head when Ma’am stabbed the air between them with a finger. “You hearin’ me?” Christine nodded and braced herself. The whack across the side of her head made her eyes and nose water. Ma’am’s rant wouldn’t be complete without a slap. Glaring at Christine, Ma’am pressed a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. “Go bathe and start tidyin’ the house.” Christine turned away, holding back tears. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t left anything in the sink. Ma’am would have slapped her anyway. She closed the bathroom door and approached the chipped basin. In the mirror, she expected to see a bruise at the side of her face, but nothing marred her skin. Her two pigtails curled upward at the ends and her brown eyes gazed back at her through the spots in the glass. She grabbed the unruly plaits and held them to her ears, but they only kicked up in the air when she released them. She took her mind off what had happened by wriggling her eyebrows, which made her break into a smile. She turned on the brass tap and started her morning routine. The slow, deliberate movements were comforting, putting her into a near trance. When she was finished, she rinsed her mouth, looked at her teeth and stuck her tongue out to examine it before she was satisfied. Into the cracked enamel cup her toothbrush went, along with six others that leaned in different directions. Her least favourite part came next. She yanked off her nightdress and hopped into the shower, turning on the pipe before she could change her mind. The water from the underground tank was always cold. She soaped and rinsed herself, then scampered out of the stall, shivering the entire time. “Chris!” The shout jolted Christine, and when her feet settled on the cracked tiles, she yelled back, “Yes, Ma’am?” “What you doin’ in there so long?” “I’m almost finished.” “Hurry up!” Christine gathered her things and went back to the bedroom. At the sound of the door closing, Cassandra stirred, and settled closer to Jamielle. In front of the mirror, Christine loosed her hair and neatened her two plaits before opening the window. The sun’s rays came through the lace curtains, showing up the old furniture. Her two sisters squirmed when sunlight flooded their space. Christine avoided looking at anything in their bedroom. Outside the window, droplets of dew winked and sparkled, welcoming the new day. The chickens scratched and pecked through the dirt and grass hunting for food. The family’s two puppies bit and rolled over each other in their usual game. The doors of the shed where her father stored his tools yawned open. Daddy was probably inside gathering the things he’d need to take to the field later. She looked up at the mountains, as she did every day. Ever since she could remember, she wondered what lay beyond their misty peaks. She fantasized about the people who lived on the other side. What did they do? How did they live? Perhaps an eleven-year-old girl like herself was over there thinking about the same things. Christine lived for this moment each morning, when she forgot her life for a few minutes and lost herself in daydreams. "Christine!" This time, her name was a scream. She hurried to the bed and shook Cassandra. The door crashed against the wall and Ma’am stood in the doorway. “I’m w-waking the girls up,” Christine said. “Well, get them up, bathed and dressed. Now. I don’t understan’ why it takes you three times longer to do anythin’ than a normal person.” She left, muttering to herself, a cigarette pressed between her thumb and forefinger. The nasty odor of the smoke tickled Christine’s nostrils, making her want to sneeze. While Cassandra stretched, Christine coaxed Jamielle out of sleep, but she snuggled deeper into her pillow. Cassandra leaned over their five-year-old sister. “I know how to wake her up!” She poked her fingers into Jamielle’s side, however, she only squirmed. Cassandra continued to tickle Jamielle, who lashed out with her leg. The kick caught Cassandra in the face. She screamed and covered her nose with both hands. Blood poured through her fingers, and tears came to her eyes. Ma’am came down the hallway, cursing. The door opened and she raced into the room with a rubber flip-flop in one hand. “I swear before the day is out I’m gonna knock one of you into next week! What the hell is happenin’ in here, Christine?” Without waiting for an answer, Ma’am came to the side of the bed where Christine sat. She scampered off the bed, but not fast enough. The neck of her t-shirt tore when Ma’am grabbed it. Christine put her hand up to ward off the slaps she knew were coming. Her luck had run out with the day barely started.